


truth is only hearsay

by Miyai



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alpha!Harvey, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta!Mike, Case Fic, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Pining, my signature move at this point tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miyai/pseuds/Miyai
Summary: See, Mike might be a Beta, so calling someone his Alpha doesn’t really do it for him. Like, at all.Daddy, though? That’s a very different story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This is for my dear friend Stark1975. Thank you so much for everything and for always being willing to be my trusty beta. 
> 
> Title from The 1975’s song Love It If We Made It.

Mike Ross does not have daddy issues. Granted, the early loss of a paternal figure combined with a burgeoning bisexuality often found in betas might (might!) have caused him to somewhat – erm. Prefer men with authority, that certain something that makes you want to just be _good_. Which is dangerously close to daddy issues, Mike knows that. But he refuses to call it that.

It’s not like there’s an abundance of older, powerful men in Mike’s life anyway, not after he gets himself expelled from college. And then Harvey Specter walks into his life.

And all those points Mike just made? Suddenly become moot.

Goddamn Harvey Specter.

*

Mike’s a Beta, and Harvey’s obviously an Alpha. Most people are either one of those, and no matter how prominent the portrayal of an A/O pair as the ideal mateship is, it just doesn’t work out statistically. An A/O mateship is a display of prestige, and nothing more.

So a lot of Alphas mate with Betas – either as a consequence of the Omega emancipation movement or just the fact that more Alphas than Omegas are born and there’s a need to settle down.

The difference is that, for male Betas at least, there are no heats, no uterus, no weird self-lubricating asshole. If you ask Mike, he has gotten the best end of the deal. Well, better. Alphas still have a better standing in society, still get more respect just because they have a knot and generally behave like they’re oh so superior.

Alphas might like to fancy themselves the pinnacle of creation, but Mike has seen how ridiculous they can get, be it simple bullshit Alpha posturing or getting all growl-ey and competitive and, frankly, stupid over an Omega, so he doesn’t buy into that bullshit. Is Mike totally bitter and often annoyed anyway? You betcha.

Harvey, though. Harvey is different, and the reason Mike is close to despairing. When he first laid eyes on Harvey, his heart skipped a beat, heat rose to cheeks, the whole nine romantic yards – until his brain caught up with the ruckus and he realized that Harvey Specter is the kind of gorgeous, knock-the-world-to-its-knees Alpha that would never settle for mating a run-of-the-mill Beta that technically shouldn’t be allowed to practice law.

Mike knows that, everyone knows that, and he has arranged himself with that fact; he’s over it. Really.

*

He’s over it. Really. Except when it comes back to haunt him. With a vengeance.

*

On another note: See, Mike might be a Beta, so calling someone his _Alpha_ doesn’t really do it for him. Like, at all.

 _Daddy_ , though? That’s a very different story.

*

He first realizes what that means in connection to Harvey when he’s in the middle of an argument with Louis who, inexplicably, is screwing up their cases again and refuses to accept that Mike is right even when Mike can call him out on his bullshit any day.

“I refuse to accept –“

“Listen,” Mike says and looks around Louis’ office tiredly. Same shit, different year. “What you’re not getting is that this? Is just the wrong way to handle this merger if you look at the pre-existing contract, the revised ’07 version, page 667 paragraph 7b, and – you know what? I could recite the whole thing verbatim to you right here, right now, but I’m not gonna, because you’ve heard it before, and you know I am right.”

“And you know –“

“I don’t care that finances are your forte, Louis, and neither does Harvey, so just let it go,” Mike interrupts.

Louis is pacing, clearly upset as always, and the vague hint of neurotic Beta scent is starting to fill the office. Mike, as a Beta himself, doesn’t have the most sensitive nose as compared to Alphas and Omegas but even he can smell it, just like he can smell Louis’ BS from three blocks away.

Mike sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what, Louis? We can go ask Harvey right now, take this to him, seeing as he’s number one on this case and what he says goes.”

Just as predicted, Louis doesn’t relent. Donna must have already gone home for the night, so there’s no one stopping them (or rather, stopping Louis) from waltzing right into Harvey’s space.

Clearly, Harvey is not amused. “What?” he bellows, looking up from his paperwork, expensive Montblanc still in hand. “What is it?”

“I tried to tell him –,“ Mike starts.

“Just because your associate always feels the need to run to Daddy –,“ Louis says simultaneously, and the last word hangs uncomfortably in the air for a moment.

“No, Louis, by all means,” Harvey says. “Come right into my office, put me behind schedule even further even though it’s ass o’clock already, with the sole intent of whining and calling me Mike’s daddy in the process. Can I offer you a cookie?” Cool distaste seems to practically ooze off him and Louis is obviously fumbling for words. He doesn’t stand a chance against Harvey when he’s in that kind of mood, and they all know it.

In the end, he just leaves in a huff, threatening to not let this slide, you’ll live to regret this, blah blah blah.

Harvey’s expression has settled back into his trademark smirk when he looks up again and discovers Mike still standing in front of his desk, desperately trying to hide his flush, among other things.

It’s just that, when Louis or other people call Harvey his daddy, he can shrug it off, see it as the small slight meant solely to goad him that it is, and subsequently put it out of his mind. When Harvey, an Alpha, with his smooth voice and ridiculously good looks, does it, even jokingly, it’s – God, Mike doesn’t even know. It’s _different_.

“Is there a reason you haven’t gone back to your files?” Harvey asks when Mike apparently has been silent for too long. “Are you upset? Need Daddy to make it better?”

Mike tries to shake off the weird feeling still lingering in his bones that flares back up when Harvey says – _that word_ – again. “You’re a dick.”

“Well, what can I say, it’s my best feature.”

“Is it, though?” Mike wonders aloud. “Also, I don’t need to ‘go back to my files’, I got all we need right here.” He puts the file he’s been holding this whole time on the desk in front of Harvey and tries to force a levity he’s not feeling into his smile.

It gets easier when he sees Harvey’s eyes light up for a second before his professional shutter comes down again. Yet the satisfaction lingers around the corners of his mouth, hides in the curve of his smirk. Mike takes this all in while he absentmindedly rubs his sternum. He feels – weird again, when he looks at Harvey too long, but it’s not the feeling from before, he thinks, but something else. Worse.

He tries his best to put the incident out of his mind and proceeds to rehash the details of his discovery for Harvey, because he _was_ right after all, not Louis, and he’ll be damned before he lets that go without a bit of gloating and trying to get Harvey to utter some actual praise for a change.

*

When Mike comes home that night, he resolves to just – not think about it. Yes. Good plan. Things that get ignored surely go away at some point. After all, it was just a fluke, right?

*

Mike can _hear_ Harvey’s office before he sees it, and no, he did not get bit by a radioactive spider as far as he can remember, it’s just that Harvey’s office is so awfully loud you could locate it blindfolded from anywhere on the whole floor. Good thing it’s again way past closing time around here, or Jessica herself would probably take Harvey’s vinyl and crush it under her priceless special edition Louboutin heels.

He walks through the door just as Black Dog segues into Rock And Roll.

“Ah, Zeppelin IV,” Mike says. “A true classic. And, in my opinion, only improved by playing it thirty-six times in a row.”

Harvey looks up from the stack of papers in front of him, then shoots a quick glance at the temp sitting outside who looks like if he ever hears Led Zeppelin again _in his life_ , it would be too early. “Smartest thing you’ve said in a while. Did you finally decide to get a taste in music?”

Mike chooses not to dignify that with a response. “I heard from Rachel that Donna’s out cold with strep and Jessica assigned you another temp. This got anything to do with that?”

“Hmmm,” Harvey rumbles. “I decline to answer.”

“You –“, Mike begins to protest, but Harvey simply holds up a finger to cut him off. Infuriatingly, it works, and Mike instinctively falls silent for a heartbeat. Then: “Why don’t you give the poor guy a break?”

Mike looks at the temp again, the tense line of his shoulders. He has seen him around before, Ethan something? He’s an Alpha like Harvey, which is unusual for a personal assistant and also most likely the reason of Harvey’s feeling the need to stick it to the man. Alphas, and Harvey especially, don’t like to share space or have anyone encroach on what they perceive as their territory.

“I think he doesn’t know how to turn off the intercom,” Harvey says, “and he’s been grinding his teeth for thirty minutes now. It’s amazing.”

“It’s not his fault Donna’s out sick,” Mike points out.

“No, but it’s his fault he wore a Mumford and Sons shirt under his suit jacket to work today.”

“Ouch,” Mike says. “Really?”

“Yup,” Harvey says. “Take a look if you don’t believe me. It’s both a crime against fashion and taste in music.”

Mike just nods solemnly.

“So?” Harvey asks. “Was there something you need? You know, since we already divided up the McLachlan briefs, and by _divided up_ I mean you’re gonna have to go through all of them by yourself ASAP. Daddy’s got enough on his plate already.”

The word echoes in Mike’s skull for a second like a particularly kinky gong, _Daddy_ ; Harvey’s voice hitting some button dead-on Mike was never willing to look at too closely. For a second, he can’t breathe, disbelieving arousal sizzling in his veins.

To top it off, Harvey’s grinning smugly at him, like he just made the joke of the century, and it’s such a good look on him Mike can’t take it.

“Yeah, no, I… uh,” Mike tries, then trails off, flustered.

The problem is that it isn’t a joke, not anymore, not to Mike. And if Harvey keeps saying that – oh God, he absolutely cannot pop a boner in front of Harvey, but it will probably happen at some point.

The sheer humiliation alone will send him to his premature grave, never mind the small chance of Harvey figuring out that his associate getting erections at inappropriate times is weirdly connected to both his person and the word Daddy. That whenever he says that, Mike gets these little hot flashes, milli-second fantasies of them, Harvey manhandling him, Harvey holding his arms down, Mike calling him Daddy as Harvey –

Mike shakes his head, trying to clear it, without much success. “I – no, there was nothing specific, I just – oh, wait, I think I left some, uh, files in the copy room.”

It’s such a transparent excuse it borders on pathetic, but Mike doesn’t care as he flees Harvey’s office.

*

He can’t outrun his feelings forever, though, and that night when Mike tries to fall asleep, they finally catch up with him.

Inadvertently, he thinks about Harvey, thinks _Daddy_ , and hates his brain for making that connection when, immediately, he twitches in his boxers. Fuck. His hand wanders down, down, down, under the duvet, and he pictures Harvey when he grips his cock.

And it’s Harvey, too, he imagines when he comes.

After that problem is taken care of for the moment, Mike resigns himself to some thorough soul searching.

In the end, in true Twilight fashion, he has three things he’s absolutely positive about: first, that his thing for Harvey is way more serious than he thought; second, that he totally wouldn’t mind calling Harvey Daddy whenever he demanded it; and third, that he is completely, unequivocally screwed, and not in a good way.

Mike doesn’t really know how to handle this whole thing, just knows that Harvey can’t possibly requite his feelings, seeing as he is technically his boss, and he doubts that Harvey’s even into male Betas at all, especially ones not trying to emulate Omega stereotypes. He’s only ever seen Harvey date Beta or Omega women, with the odd male Omega in between.

In conclusion: This fucking sucks, but Mike tries not to let it bother him. Denial and sublimation are his preferred methods of dealing anyway. Realistically, how bad could it get?

*

As if on cue, the next day decides to show Mike in high-definition detail how bad exactly.

He’s on the way into Harvey’s office again – what else does he do these days? – not lifting his gaze from the open files in his hands, trying to take in even more information in the shortest amount of time possible, when Donna, miraculously recovered from strep in less than a week, stops him.

“Harvey will be right with you,” she says, carefully neutral.

“What?” That gets Mike to look up. He always just bursts into Harvey’s office, and no one has complained so far. “Donna, what?”

Then his eyes find Harvey in his office, clearly visible from where Mike’s standing. But he’s not alone, oh no. A pretty woman is with him, talking animatedly, all casual business clothes and light touches; her long hair shines when she throws her head back to laugh at something Harvey said.

“Who’s that?” Mike asks, going for nonchalant and landing somewhere just east of petulant.

“That’s Elaine Thompson. Clark Thompson’s Omega daughter.” Donna shakes her head in exasperation.

“Thompson? As in, our multi-million dollar client Thompson?”

Donna nods. “She insisted on taking over her father’s role as liaison and main contact to Pearson Hardman. Harvey asked her out a while ago, then some stuff happened, and now this.” She sighs. “I tried to tell him mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Why does Harvey need to be told that?” Mike asks. “Doesn’t he have a rule of his own for that or something?”

“He used to, at least,” she says and ah, Mike has discovered the reason for Donna’s visible unhappiness. She’s not jealous per se – she and Harvey are both such headstrong Alphas, it’s hard to imagine that going anywhere serious or stable – but more disappointed. Presumably in Harvey.

Mike can relate. He looks at Harvey and Elaine through the glass again and smiles bitterly. Sure, he told himself he didn’t have any hope anyway, but it’s a different thing to receive such a stark reminder right the next day.

Everything is still fresh and it _hurts_ , having to watch Harvey lean down towards Elaine slightly, body language open and, Mike would bet, that certain sparkle in his gorgeous brown eyes that makes all the Omegas want to roll over and present their throat to him. Well, not _just_ all the Omegas, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I see,” Mike says, “then I’ll just. Come back later.”

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Donna calls after him, and Mike doesn’t want to examine further why she feels the need to tell him that.

The whole situation spells out something Mike knew but conveniently has wanted to forget: Harvey Specter is the kind of Alpha that can have anyone, even the most prestigious Omega, and it’s clear what that means in relation to Mike.

*

That night, Mike dreams he’s an Omega and that he’s having sex with Harvey. It’s all pretty jumbled, the way dreams always are, too real and also weirdly removed and distant at the same time. He vividly feels the Omega slick running down his thighs, Harvey above him, growling and baring his teeth.

When Mike wakes up, he looks back on the dream and shudders, but not in a good way. He’s never wanted to be an Omega, and like hell is he going to let some of that feeling creep in just because it might better his chances with Harvey marginally. And he sure as fuck isn’t going to jerk off to the thought of calling Harvey his Alpha now.

(There are of course other words Mike would be more than glad to call Harvey anyway.)


	2. Chapter 2

For some unknown fucking reason, Harvey keeps using That Word That Shall Not Be Named and it’s driving Mike _insane_. He doesn’t know how to deal with this, or why it’s happening now. Maybe it’s karma coming to get him for being a fraud, but he thinks that’s unlikely.

They are indulging a little today, just the two of them in Harvey’s office, which means taking a deliberate break in the middle of a case and shooting hoops with the trashcan and rolled-up paper. Harvey pretends it’s solely for his own benefit, all _I just wanna kick your ass again, c’mon, rookie_ , but Mike suspects it’s actually due to him catching onto the fact that he has been running Mike ragged lately and trying to make up for it in his usual emotionally incapable way.

They’re going head-to-head and Harvey sinks the deciding paper while Mike is surreptitiously inhaling Harvey’s scent. Which right now broadcasts dominance and safety and playfulness all rolled into one. It’s – heavenly, and Mike wonders why he’s never really noticed it before except in passing.

“Yes! Who’s your daddy?” Harvey punches the air in triumph.

“Um,” Mike says, tamping down on a surge of lust.

“Who’s boss, baby?” Harvey crows, arms wide, triumphant Gladiator-style. In a second, he’ll ask Mike whether he’s entertained.

Calling Harvey _Boss_ is both technically true and marginally better for Mike’s libido and general life expectancy, so he picks his battles. Sighs. Says, “You are,” followed by, “this time.”

“I gotta admit, this was fun,” Harvey says. “I’m always open for obliterating you again if you want a rematch.” He gifts Mike with one of his rare, genuine smiles. “Now get the hell back to work, I expect the briefs on the Campbell subsidiaries on my desk by four.”

Okay, so apparently playtime’s over, then. Nothing to be done about that, Mike supposes, and so he just says, “Ay, ay, Captain,” only a smidge sardonically, and leaves Harvey’s office without another word.

He wouldn’t even know where to start anyway.

*

“Is there something wrong with Harvey?”

“Is there something not wrong with Harvey,” Mike replies automatically. Seventy percent of his brain is currently busy studying the files laid out on the library table in front of him, so he only realizes what he’s said when Rachel laughs a little.

“Okay, that’s fair,” she says, “but I mean – he’s behaving kind of strange lately, don’t you think?”

“Strange how?”

She leans in like she’s telling a secret. “Well, yesterday I saw him stop in front of a mirror down in the Atrium and spend five minutes fixing his hair even though there was not a single strand out of place. And then he literally puffed up his chest before leaving.”

“Did you just stand there and watch him do that? For five whole minutes?”

“Yes, so? He didn’t see me, so it doesn’t matter. Oh, and then two days ago, he basically ripped off Colfer’s head when he made a typo somewhere in the Lockhart papers. When Harvey saw it, he just snapped, really tore into the poor guy. I don’t think I’ve seen an associate cry since Harold left, but Harvey managed it.”

Mike puts down his pen. “And that’s weird how? You know how fussy Harvey can be about his contracts. And by fussy, I mean a dick.”

“Yes,” Rachel says, “but it’s different. He’s reaching Louis levels of fastidiousness, and Mary, the stenographer, the blonde Beta, remember her? She told me that on Saturday, when you had the weekend off, Harvey actually growled at a client in a meeting.”

Mike winces. That’s a pretty big social faux pas, especially for someone who prides himself on control and a cool head like Harvey. “Okay, that’s weird, but. I don’t know. I haven’t noticed anything, he’s just – Harvey.” Except he keeps calling himself Daddy and I have to run out of his office before he can tell by my scent how hot that gets me, he thinks, but that’s beside the point.

Rachel sighs dramatically. “Associates. Not a full brain between all of them, and yes, that means you too, Mister! Preening, heightened aggression – what does that usually point towards?”

Mike’s stomach plummets. He clears his throat once, twice, three times before he’s able to answer Rachel. “A courting Alpha?” He’s not sure why it sounds like a question; maybe he wants her to tell him he’s wrong and there’s no way Harvey would ever do that.

She gives him a look that’s uncomfortably close to pitying. “That’s what I think at least. Any idea who it is?”

“Why don’t you just ask Donna,” Mike mumbles, bending his head down to try and get back to his reading. He thinks of Elaine Thompson and quietly despairs a little.

“Okay, wow, touchy,” Rachel says. “Maybe I will. And just so we’re clear, you owe me lunch for my help today. You’re taking me to _Fortizzia_ later.”

Rachel is the most headstrong Omega Mike has ever met, and despite the popular stereotype, most of them aren’t exactly meek. So he just nods and doesn’t even give a token protest.

She gives him another weird look, then she also returns to her files.

*

“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Mike looks up from putting the finalizing touches on the Pfizer/Van Holt acquisition contract to find Harvey standing in front of his cubicle. As usual, he looks good enough to eat.

He slaps down a stack of files on top of everything else Mike still needs to do.

“I literally never said that, and trust me, I would know,” Mike says.

“Yeah, yeah, you can intellectually slam dunk all the other associates, we get it.” Harvey smiles, showing off his teeth like a shark, and that’s always, always a bad sign for what might follow. “Jessica assigned me a new client and you’re helping me. Might be right up your social justice alley.”

“Just because I once recited the first chapter of ‘The Omegan Mystique’ doesn’t mean – ugh, never mind.” Mike reaches for the files. “A secondary gender discrimination lawsuit against a former employer? In this day and age?”

“Keep reading.”

“Gender discrimination against Betas? Harvey, what?” This has to be a first.

Mike has only ever heard of allegations of discrimination against Omegas. Secondary gender discrimination lawsuits, short SGD, used to be incredibly common, but less and less get filed these days, considering the exponential development of Omega rights over the last fifty years. Then finally in 2004, with Albertalli v. Suso, it was established that – not now, brain. Focus.

Mike blinks. Sometimes his eidetic memory just runs wild, reproducing facts and statistics without much prompting, and then he has to yank it back on topic.

“There’s no precedent for this,” Mike says.

“No.” Harvey raps his knuckles against Mike’s cubicle. “Not that I know of, anyway. Certainly never anything against a company as big as Falcon Electronics. I need you to find an angle to make this work. I have an idea, but I won’t know until tomorrow whether it checks out. Whatever you’re doing right now, this goes to the top of your priority pile. Figuratively, when I look at the state of your desk.”

Mike looks at the empty take out containers, the tangled mess of headphones, pens and knickknacks. Harvey may have a point, but Mike still knows where everything is, and that’s all that matters. “I’m still finishing this thing for Louis –”

“And now you’re not,” Harvey interrupts. “No excuses, rookie, I don’t want to hear them. You need more court experience if you ever want to amount to anything. Falcon sure as shit won’t be settling. Now why don’t you tell me why that is?”

That’s easy enough to answer, but Mike has the feeling it will be the first and last easy thing about this lawsuit. “Cause it’s basically an admission of guilt, at least in the public eye. Which will leave them wide open to innumerable lawsuits in the same vein. It’s the snowball effect; the actual amount of the settlement won’t matter at that point.”

“Ding-ding-ding. So give Louis his boring, pharmaceutical acquisition back, take a look at the files, and when my meeting with Thompson is over, I expect you to be waiting in my office.” Harvey leaves without leaving room for argument.

Mike understands why Harvey wants him on the case, apart from the fact that Mike is ‘his guy’. Even as a male Beta it can be hard in a work environment overrun by Alphas such as a high-prestige law firm, without the careful anti-discrimination laws Omegas can rely on. In that sense, he has at least an idea on how to treat this case and especially the plaintiffs. More than Harvey, probably.

He pushes away Louis’s contracts. The SGD files take their place on Mike’s desk.

*

It doesn’t take Mike that long to go through the files, partly due to the fact that it actually catches his interest after the first five minutes of reading. Harvey was right, he’s loathe to admit: it’s right up his alley, speaks to his innate sense of right and wrong the law firm business has been unsuccessful so far in beating out of him.

It’s a joint lawsuit, not quite enough plaintiffs to call it a class action suit. There’s three of them, long time employees of Falcon Electronics that kept being held back from promotion without the company ever outright saying so.

Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark, though, and when Mike looks at the statistics accompanying the suit, he actually winces. Only 19 percent of the leading positions in the firm in all of New England and the Tri-State area filled by Betas, whereas 24 percent are filled by Omegas and, the lion’s share, is being held by Alphas. It’s a wonder no one has sued them before, he thinks, right before he finds the catch: GADIS, the Gender Anonymized Interviewing System.

He smiles, mirthless. Of course, they felt secure with their numbers so far, because any company, no matter their gender statistics, that use the GADIS have no way of knowing their interviewees secondary gender until the applying party is literally standing in front of them, and sometimes, if they decide to utilize scent blockers, not even then.

Secondary gender is the only thing being edited out in that specific system, and it’s purposefully designed that way. Up against secondary gender, primary gender does not have much impact on anything, at least until it comes to subclassing a given pool of people of the same secondary gender. In that direction, Falcon Electronics seem to be covering their bases accordingly; almost as many female Alphas in higher positions as males, and the same goes for the Omega statistic, where the scales are actually tipped in favor of women.

The only thing really wrong with that picture are indeed the Beta numbers, considering that statistically Betas still outnumber A/Os. There could be definite grounds for a suit here, especially when Mike looks at the statistics on interviews, but there seems to be some information missing; maybe intentionally.

He’ll have to ask Harvey about that, maybe come in even earlier tomorrow – Mike sighs. He enjoys the work immensely, the cognitive stimulation it provides, but he’s overworked as it is. Yet he just can’t say no to Harvey. Well, also Harvey is his boss, so he _literally_ cannot, but there’s something else to it now too, a need to please, to show off for the man he –

Okay, that’s enough, Mike decides. No more pining for today, and while he works, he will not be thinking about Harvey’s meeting with Elaine Thompson. No way.

*

“Your tie’s askew,” Harvey says when Mike steps into his office.

“Thanks for the fashion tip,” Mike says, “but at least I didn’t fall headfirst into a ginormous tub of grease.”

Harvey barks a surprised laugh. “Don’t even pretend I’m not the one you want, Sandra Dee.”

“Only if we can fly off in Ray’s car after work,” says Mike. “How was the Thompson meeting?”

Harvey lifts an eyebrow. “Well, well, Michael, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalling. It was completely fine. Now, for the Falcon Electronics case: what you got for me?”

Mike huffs, drags a hand through his hair. “Not a lot, there’s something fishy about it, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I thought maybe they found a way around the GADIS, but it would have to be in the preliminaries before selecting the candidates for any given position, since the numbers for who gets a shot at an interview are already so skewed.”

“I’ve been thinking along the same lines, but it doesn’t check out. I got Hathaway on it –“

“Nick?” Mike asks, surprised Harvey would stoop so low so easily as to hire a hacker to check out FE’s database as his first move. But if Harvey resorts to that already, it must be a necessary evil. Without a precedent, they will have to fight tooth and nail to win this.

“I got Hathaway on it,” Harvey continues like Mike didn’t say anything, “and he says the company-based employee database is squeaky clean, fits the anti-SGD by-laws to a T. No evidence of registered secondary genders post 2001 when the last modifications were introduced.”

“So that was your plan? Nick?”

“Yes, and it didn’t work. Can we move on? Since there’s nothing obviously wrong on the surface, I need you to dig deeper. I can give you Vanessa’s number, she’s a kickass PI who might be able to help, and I want you to contact Nick again, see if there aren’t any other databases for the company on external servers they could have neglected to mention in all the documents. Obviously, that doesn’t cancel out your own responsibility to look more into it. Tomorrow’s the first deposition here, with the CEO of FE, and it will only be the tip of the iceberg.”

Mike feels a bit overwhelmed, like he sometimes does when Harvey takes him by the leash and turns the Alpha to eleven to get Mike to do his job better and faster, but he comes back to reality when Harvey snaps his fingers impatiently. “What are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

Mike gives him a baleful look, but then he complies and goes back to work.

*

Mike is growing increasingly frustrated with his TV. Originally, he switched it on to have some noise in the background while he went through the FE files again, drawing up ideas for the deposition the next day. The CEO, a woman called Yvonne Rogers, will be coming in first thing in the morning, and from what Mike could gather in his research, she’s got a reputation of being upstanding, direct, and absolutely ruthless. He wants to be as prepared as can be.

At some point, though, the TV turned from being background chatter to the main event, and Mike hates it, but he’s unwilling to switch it off. They’re showing Clueless and Mike always secretly used to love that movie. It falls on his guilty pleasure scale somewhere between Some Like It Hot and Love in the Time of Cholera.  He still likes it, but now he can’t help watching it with different eyes.

Christian, who turns out to be a Beta wearing scent-blockers instead of an Alpha, which is used as an excuse for Cher to stop pursuing him; Josh who acts more Beta-leaning but in the end shows his Alpha colors just in time for Cher to realize he’s the right Alpha to her Omega – all that mostly due to Hollywood clichés and stereotypes associated with A/O matings, he knows that, but ugh. Mike’s just sick of having those relationships presented as the absolute ideal. It’s inaccurate, outdated, borderline offensive, and not at all about Harvey and how little of a chance Mike stands with him, a Beta to Harvey’s Alpha. No, really, it isn’t.

Mike grimaces and finally switches off the TV.


	3. Chapter 3

Yvonne Rogers strides into the conference room like she owns it. She’s a middle-aged woman with a lithe figure and fiery red hair like Donna, complete with a power suit and murder in her eyes; she looks like, even though she’s the one being deposed, she will try to crush Harvey and him under her designer heels.

Hot on said heels is a mousy looking lawyer, about the same age as Harvey who Mike instantly recognizes from the photos he saw in Harvey’s old Harvard album one night. For, uh, research. To know his way around Harvard better.

His name is Neal Donoghue, and he graduated magna cum laude, a few spots behind Harvey. Going by the look in his eyes when he shakes Harvey’s hand, he’s still not over it.

“Harvey,” he grinds out, showing teeth. “What a… pleasure to see you again.”

“Neal,” Harvey says. “How’s your wife?”

Or maybe there’s something else Donoghue’s not over. Oh boy.

The vein in Donoghue’s temple looks about ready to pop as the implication hangs heavy in the air, a pregnant pause. Considering Harvey’s disdain for infidelity, he probably didn’t sleep with Donoghue’s wife, at least not while they were married, but Mike can’t be sure.

“Oh, you son of a –“

“Gentlemen,” Mike interrupts, holding his hand up placatingly, “you can’t fight in here, this is the War Room.”

That earns him an incredulous look from Donoghue, a small smirk from Harvey, and an annoyed clearing of the throat from Yvonne Rogers, but at least everyone settles down. At least until they begin the questioning, which is when things heat up again.

“That’s ridiculous,” Rogers spits out, shrugging Donoghue’s hand, clearly trying to calm her down, off her shoulder. “This whole suit is. Our employment average corresponds with the standards dictated by the Silvera-McEwan precedent. We at Falcon Electronics don’t believe in gender stereotypes, and we have never assessed a candidate based on their secondary gender.”

“That’s a nice party line,” Harvey says, “but numbers don’t lie, people do. So you have to excuse me, Mrs. Rogers, if I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“I don’t see how that’s a question,” says Donoghue.

“I was getting there if you manage to hold your horses for just a damn minute, Neal. So, in your opinion, Mrs. Rogers, where does the disparity in gender representation in leading positions in your firm come from then, if not malicious intent?”

“I don’t know,” Rogers says. “Maybe less Betas apply for leadership positions, but I wouldn’t know, since I’m not involved in every single interview. I would love to give you statistics on that, but I can’t, since GADIS makes that kind of information virtually inaccessible to me.” It’s a barb disguised as a fact, a sharp reminder that the GADIS trail won’t lead them anywhere useful. Mike hates it, but she’s right. GADIS makes them untouchable, unless – well, unless they found a way to circumvent it, but Harvey and he still have nothing on that front.

“No, you’re not involved with any and all interviewing processes, but you were a part of the last five for at least higher leading positions. Do you think the applicant gender ratio has changed over the last decade since you took over the company?” Mike asks.

Rogers gives him a disdainful look. “Now you want to pin this on me specifically?”

“Just covering all our bases,” Harvey says. “Now, Mrs. Rogers, would you say you’re a good CEO?”

“I would like to think so,” she says with an air that screams _hell yes and also I’m better than you_.

“Does that mean you maintain close contact with your employees?”

“I try to be as present as possible, and I frequent all our locations as often as my position allows.”

“So, if you’re as familiar with your employee base as you say, you also know all their gender types?” Harvey asks, placid.

Rogers, to Mike’s surprise, laughs. “Here we go. If you’re insinuating that I went and sniffed out secondary genders for each applicant –”

“Yvonne,” Donoghue says, but she pays him no mind.

“Quiet, Neal. That’s absolutely ludicrous. I have neither the time nor motivation to do so, and besides, it would be pretty obvious if I talked only to applicants in the time frame preceding the opening of a leadership position, with the sole intent of breaching privacy protocol. But go right ahead, because even if I had done exactly that,” she says, knocking on the table thrice, “good luck proving it.”

Donoghue is pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yvonne…”

“You’re fired,” she says.

Harvey’s eyebrows shoot up and Mike can’t hide his shock either.

“What?” Donoghue says. “But –”

“You have been exactly zero help so far,” Rogers says, “so as soon as these two gentlemen are done throwing groundless allegations at me, I’ll look for a more capable lawyer. Now get out.”

Donoghue gives off the impression of someone whose puppy has just been gutted in front of their eyes. Mike again feels that flare of sympathy; Harvey of course has no such qualms.

“Well, in that case,” he says, glee and newfound respect for Yvonne Rogers evident in his voice, “you have no reason to be there, so. There’s the door.”

Donoghue opens his mouth, shuts it again, repeats this a few times. Then he just throws his hands up in defeat and leaves.

Next, Rogers turns her icy smile on Mike and Harvey. “Now, where were we?”

*

After Yvonne Rogers has left, Mike turns to Harvey. “Like she said, if it’s in fact her, we don’t have shit.”

“That’s your verdict, Atticus?” Harvey asks. “Tucking your tail between your legs? Just because we don’t have anything now doesn’t mean we won’t be able to get something on her.” He gathers up his files and stands up. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not her.”

“How do you know?”

“The Don’t-Question-Your-Boss fairy told me. Also, she doesn’t smell guilty.”

Mike gives him an incredulous look. “That’s all you’re giving me?” His voice drops into a mock-dark imitation of Harvey. “’She doesn’t smell guilty.’ Great note; totally inadmissible in court. Alphas, man, I swear to God.”

“Are you done? Good, ‘cause I was going to say that, while she doesn’t smell guilty, she smells _off_. She knows something, or she has an idea of where to look at least.”

“So if she doesn’t come forward with it, there has to be a reason. Someone has to have something on her, otherwise she wouldn’t stand for her company getting inspected with a looking glass and getting dragged through the dirt in court,” Mike states.

“Exactly. Which means you need to look into her. If we find the gun she’s got to her head, we can empty the magazine, and then she’ll sing like a canary.”

*

After the first deposition, things get hectic with Thompson and five other mergers, so the FE case gets pushed to the backburner, and Mike doesn’t make a lot of progress in the direction Harvey pointed him. Vanessa turns up nothing of import, and Nick Hathaway’s nowhere to be found.

Nonetheless, a week later, they’re on their way to the next deposition; one of the three plaintiffs. They’re making an exception this time, going to New Jersey to meet with the client there instead of calling them into the Pearson Hardman office, which is unusual, but Jessica signed off on it, so Mike doesn’t really care. It’s a nice change of scenery, even if it’s New Jersey; it feels good to get out of the office for a while and stretch his legs, so to speak.

When they get outside, Mike nudges Harvey’s side, “Look,” and gestures to a sweet old-timer car, black and a damn battleship compared to the cars around it, idling at the curb thirty feet away. Mike doesn’t know a lot about old cars, has never looked into the topic, but he can still appreciate them, their iconic looks, their dichotomy as timeless beauties and as remnants of an era long gone by. “That’s a sweet ride.”

Harvey smirks, buttoning up his suit jacket and handing Mike his messenger bag. “I’m glad you appreciate her,” he says, then makes towards the car, easy as you please, with Mike struggling to catch up.

“Where are you going? Where’s Ray?”

Just as he says that, the door to the old-timer’s driver’s seat opens and Ray steps out as if summoned by Mike’s question.

“No.” Mike gapes, disbelieving.

“Oh yes,” says Harvey, smug.

“You didn’t.”

“Ah, but I did.”

Ray hands the keys to Harvey, but not before mentioning the mix tape he has left in the radio for them specifically. They get in; Mike takes shotgun. Takes in the leather upholstery, the vintage tape player, possibly still the original one or close enough. Suddenly it’s like a lightbulb turns on over Mike’s head – he knows where he’s seen this car before.

“This is – really, Harvey? Really?” It sounds too much like fond exasperation, too much like puppy love, but Mike absolutely doesn’t care right now. “You sure you don’t also wanna slap a bumper sticker on the back, y’know, _Saving people, hunting things_? Just to drive the point home?”

Harvey snorts and expertly maneuvers the car out of the tight spot it’s parked in. “This is a ’69 model, not 1967, and I had this car long before that show aired. It used to be my father’s.”

Now it’s Mike’s turn to snort. “Did he also leave you a leatherjacket and journal?”

“As a matter of fact, he did. Why, Sammy, you want to do some more research? Dig into the lore?”

“It’s Sam, Sammy’s a chubby twelve-year old,” Mike says. “And wow, I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool. No, don’t even try – you’ve outed yourself.”

Harvey raises an eyebrow. “As what exactly? Someone who turns on their TV once in a while? Shocker. It’s such a good fit, though, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner.”

“How’s that a good fit?” Mike asks skeptically.

“Sam’s pretty Beta-leaning for an Alpha, and, more importantly, he also only ever made it to Pre-Law.”

“Oh, ha ha. Low blow, Harvey.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” Harvey corrects, fiddles with the radio. Portishead fills the car.

“So that conveniently makes you Dean? Don’t you think you’re overestimating your coolness?”

“Oh, please. Dean Winchester wishes he were me,” Harvey says with unshakeable confidence.

Mike huffs and tries to hide his smile.

*

The deposition goes fairly well, though nothing unexpected happens. They meet Leah Sedaris at her suburban home, and Mike has to hold the baby while Harvey gets the camera and technical equipment set up.

She tears up a bit when she describes her struggle in the workplace, how everything she did felt wasted, null, and Mike feels an unexpected stab somewhere in his heart area. He hopes Harvey doesn’t notice; he’s not in the mood for another lecture on Why Caring Is The Worst and If You Care You Lose.

After, about halfway back into the city, they find a diner a few minutes off the Interstate and have dinner. Harvey looks out of place between all the red booths, business Alpha v. circumstance. Mike enjoys his greasy burger just a little too much, licking his fingertips, and Harvey lifts an eyebrow, always so incredibly judgey.

When the waiter brings the check, he puts it down in front of Harvey without asking.

“They think you’re my sugar Alpha,” Mike immediately says after the waiter is safely out of earshot.

“I’m not?” Harvey asks, picking up the tab. “I sure hope they take Platinum American Express in this dump. Also, that just means they thought you’re an Omega. Forget Beta-leaning Alpha, now they think you’re a girl.”

“Male Omegas are not girls, Harvey, that’s offensive.”

“To whom? Women or male Omegas?” Harvey gives Mike an unimpressed look.

Mike doesn’t have an answer for that.

*

Back in the car, Mike keeps thinking about it. Not that Omega bit, but the fact that the wait staff simply assumed they were together, that he was Harvey’s. The thought leaves a pleasant tingling in his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

As they’re heading towards trial, two things happen: one, Harvey blessedly stops calling himself Daddy and trying to kill Mike by boner-induced stroke, and two, Mike develops some kind of mental block that stops him from cracking this case. That could also be all the extra work Louis is dumping on Mike, though, because he’s pissed that Mike dropped the Pfizer/Van Holt acquisition in favor of Harvey’s SGD case.

When Harvey sees Mike shamble through the firm one late night, he takes one good look at him and says, “Okay, that’s enough. You’re putting down that damn acquisition, and then we’re going out for drinks.”

Mike frowns. “Just drinks? Or _drinks_ drinks, by which I mean Scotch that’s so expensive I can’t even afford to smell it over the bar counter?”

“Your call,” Harvey says. Mike almost drops dead on the spot but tries not to let it show. He’s moderately successful. Harvey? Letting him call the shots? He doesn’t recall climbing through a wardrobe and ending up in the magical land of Narnia, but it’s the only logical conclusion.

“Fine,” Mike says, “I know exactly where to.”

*

Mike can’t help but laugh at Harvey’s horrified expression when they enter Joe’s Bar.

“I’m trying to get a drink,” Harvey says, “not catch gangrene. That’s it, you never get to decide anything ever again.”

“You don’t _catch_ gangrene. And for your information, Joe is a Scotch connoisseur just like you, and he always keeps some of the really good stuff behind the bar for the lone business man that stumbles in here by accident.”

“Okay,” Harvey says. “But you’re on thin fucking ice. Now get me a drink.”

*

Despite the rocky start, the evening turns out just great, and it doesn’t take long after Harvey holds up his Scotch and declares, “that’ll do, pig,” that one drink turns into three, and by then, Harvey’s taken off his suit jacket and has rolled up his shirt sleeves, unwittingly flashing Mike with more skin than he knows how to handle. No, it’s true, it’s better than porn. Mike surreptitiously leans forward and tries to catch more of Harvey’s scent while they’re talking, and it’s _good_.

It’s not often that Mike gets Harvey like this; when he lets loose just the tiniest bit, poise slipping to reveal the man beneath little by little, the mean edge melting from his smirk and leaving a genuine smile behind.

Mike’s mesmerized, feels happy and high, and it’s not just the alcohol. So when he steps up to the bar counter to order another round and a pretty blonde Omega suddenly cozies up to him, hand warm on his forearm, predatory smile aimed at him, it takes him a second longer than it should to understand what she’s after. As soon as it clicks, he removes her hand gently.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m here with someone.” He looks over his shoulder at Harvey, who, for some reason, seems to be glowering at him and the girl. Maybe he thinks his personal dancing monkey should bring him his next drink faster.

“Oooooh! I’m so sorry,” she says, and now Mike can smell the hard liquor on her breath. Her name’s Stella, but he doubts she remembers him. She’s a regular here; he’s seen her around before. From what he’s gathered, she’s an economics major at CUNY and spends her days drinking away her frustration.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“Sorry?” Mike pays for his round of drinks, tips Joe generously who is giving him a pitying look.

“Who is it?” Stella repeats. “The guy over there?” She gestures at Harvey who now looks like he’ll bite Mike’s head clean off if this takes another second longer. And wow, that definitely shouldn’t be turning Mike on.

“Yeah, the guy in the suit.”

“Wow,” Stella says. “Super hot and older. So tell me” – she leans closer, conspiratorially – “do you call him Daddy in bed?”

_I wish_ , Mike thinks, immediately followed by _just when Harvey stopped saying that, now someone else_ – maybe it is karma, after all. Before he can attempt an answer, though, a short brunette girl pulls Stella away. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have given her the tequila shots.”

Mike waves her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” Her smile also takes on a flirtier edge, so he uses his chance to flee back to his and Harvey’s table. Weirdly enough, Harvey’s expression is now nothing but pleasant and he lifts an eyebrow at Mike. “What, neither of those lovely ladies strike your fancy?”

“Nah,” Mike says, which is less pathetic than _the only person in this room I wanna get with is you_. “Bros before Os.”

“Now who’s being offensive?”

Mike gives him an unimpressed look. “Maybe I didn’t wanna leave you sitting her all alone, crying into your million dollar embroidered handkerchief.” He lifts his glass.

“It’s not embroidered, it’s monogrammed,” Harvey says and toasts with him.

“I’m fine where I am,” Mike says, back to the topic before. It comes out more honest than he intends, but Harvey simply smiles. Mike must be imagining the slightly predatory glint in his eyes, though.

It surely is simply wishful thinking, that’s all.

*

The second deposition starts out at Pearson Hardman, but it quickly becomes apparent their plaintiff is immensely uncomfortable with a camera and recording device being pointed at his face the whole time, so Harvey only waits until they have the absolute bare minimum necessary and then he sends Mike outside with the client, to get a coffee and hopefully some more off-the-record information.

“It’s just – it has always felt like the game was rigged against me,” says Daniel Wójcik. “Just because of who I am, not even as a person, but designated, y’know.” He’s nervously holding onto his to-go coffee cup, taking a swig every few seconds.

Mike does know, and he feels new appreciation that Harvey knew to let them go on their own. “I get it. When there’s so much razzmatazz about Alphas and Omegas, it can feel like you’re falling into the crack between. Like America’s unloved middle child.”

Wójcik gives him a pleasantly surprised look. “Yeah, exactly. Have you -?”

“I’ve been there. Not professionally, or – not really. But I had a friend once, and since he was the Alpha in the relationship, I let him get away with everything for too long.” There’s more to the story with Trevor, but the general idea is true. Mike goes for the closing plea. “Listen, Daniel. If we are to win this case, I need everything you can think of that even remotely hints at gender discrimination at Falcon Electronics. Any locker room talk you might’ve overheard from the higher-ups, or jokes, anything.”

“You mean apart from the fact I was never promoted for all the fifteen years I worked for them even though I exceeded all needed qualifications?” Wójcik asks drily. He considers for a minute. “The only thing I can tell you is that I don’t think Yvonne Rogers would do this. She’s a hardass, but she’s fair. I assume everyone’s been putting the thumbscrews on her since she’s the CEO, but the CFO, Clive Becker, he’s also involved with a lot of HR decisions and he was promoted to CFO about the same time Yvonne took over the company.”

Mike nods. “Okay, thank you, Daniel.”

Wójcik waves him off. “Thank me by winning my case.”

*

Mike does indeed look into Becker, but the general problem, same with Yvonne Rogers, remains. There are no traces that point towards circumvention of the GADIS so Becker simply couldn’t have known. His research, on the other hand, manages to convince him that it is in fact probably Becker. He’s from a traditional family, Texan, and there are almost only A/O matings on the records for his family, reaching back at least three generations. It’s not hard to imagine him having some kind of prejudice against Betas.

Mike just doesn’t know yet how to make it stick.

*

“Oh, do you need your Daddy to help you with the case?” Katrina Bennett mockingly asks Mike, in front of Harvey and Louis. Mike squirms. Harvey simply smirks, clearly amused.

Same old, same old.

*

It’s strangely anti-climatic when Mike figures it all out. And by chance, too.

Yvonne Rogers has just been in for her second deposition, with yet another power suit and a new lawyer who blocked Mike and Harvey’s cross-examination so thoroughly that they might as well have not had a second deposition at all.

As Rogers makes for the elevator, still deep in conversation with her lawyer, suddenly a young female redhead is stepping into view, clearly coming to meet her. Rogers’ face lights up and the two women hug, then leave together. Mike sees it happening through glass from inside the conference room, and, just like that, all puzzle pieces fall into place.

Damn. And it’s so laughably easy too, because Mike? Has seen pictures of that young redhead before, and he knows where she works. Now it makes sense that Yvonne Rogers did not want to talk, didn’t want to testify against anyone. The young woman is clearly her daughter – same last name and an uncanny resemblance a dead give-away.

He smiles. Now he just has to tell Harvey the good news.

*

Clive Becker won’t know what hit him, Mike thinks, gleeful. No, better – vindicated. All Betas everywhere will thank Mike for what he and Harvey will have done in about twenty minutes. As soon as Yvonne Rogers and her daughter Anna, the redhead from the elevator, had finished listening to Harvey make his case, they couldn’t sign the sworn affidavit fast enough that nails Becker down, right where it hurts.

Harvey rings the doorbell to Becker’s condo, a bit more forcefully than necessary; Mike tries to not fidget next to him. They’ve met Becker before, so when he opens the door, he sighs, seemingly annoyed, but gestures them inside.

There he grudgingly offers them a drink before they get down to business, sitting in the middle of his living room on his obviously expensive black leather couch, but they both decline.

“Alright, gentlemen, have it your way.” Becker gets a drink for himself, then sits back down across from them. He puts his drink on the glass coffee table and folds his hands in mock-anticipation. “What can I do for you?”

Mike looks at Harvey who gives him the smallest nod. On the way from the office over here, Harvey told Mike that he was expected to take the lead on this. _I can’t be bothered, you give it to him_ , were his exact words, but Mike heard the underlying meaning: _it’s you who deserves to take this asshole down_.

“It’s not about what you can do, it’s about what you will do,” Mike says. He throws his file with the settlement agreement plus official caveat on the table. “Read ‘em and weep.”

Becker snorts derisively but takes the file, reads over the proposal. “That’s bullshit and I ain’t signing a damn thing.” He throws the file back on the table, sneering. “This lawsuit was ridiculous from the beginning, but I let it go on. Figured I’d give you some time to run around like goddamn headless chickens until those people realize they ain’t getting promoted cause they’re talentless, mediocre hacks.”

“I thought you’d say that, knowing that we can’t prove anything as long as the GADIS trail is disclosed and squeaky clean. Which it is, so, chapeau on that. But you found a way around it, didn’t you.” It’s not a question, and Becker knows it. The corner of his mouth twitches and he leans forward.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Harvey says, “and stop wasting our time.”

“You see, Mr. Becker, the only thing left to prove to make this case airtight is that you had access to private secondary gender information. After that, the numbers will speak for itself, and you can wave your plausible deniability bye-bye.”

Becker takes a swig of his drink; his jaw clenched. Mike smiles, without humor. They’ve got him by the knot, and he’s starting to realize that.

“Now, a breach of privacy regarding that kind of information is not a felony, for you at least, but you never know. If we take this to trial, someone might have the idea to make a much needed precedent out of this. So signing the settlement really is the best option for you. The terms are simple: each plaintiff gets a million dollars and you resign as the CFO of Falcon Electronics. Oh, and also, the settlement forbids NDAs regarding your involvement, so you can’t even hide your prejudice at another company behind a sealed case.” Mike puts down a pen next to the open contract. “Your choice. And believe me when I say, I would gladly take you to court and take you apart in front of a jury, piece by piece, like the bigot you are.” Harvey shifts next to him, and Mike gets the distinct impression that his mentor is proud of him. His skin prickles.

“You can’t prove anything,” Becker challenges.

In response, Mike just pulls out two pieces of paper, slaps them down on top of the file. “These two signed affidavits say otherwise. In case you’re too lazy to read, they’re by Yvonne Rogers, who had an idea of what you were doing, and Anna Rogers. Remember Anna? Your son’s fiancée, who just so happens to work at the Federal Secondary Gender Management Bureau. What a weird coincidence, don’t you think? Except, oh no, it’s not a coincidence at all. Whenever applications crossed your desk, you pressured your future daughter-in-law into looking the corresponding employees up in the federal data base. Which, for her, could not only cost her her job, but also makes it a federal offense. She was really specific about your involvement in all of this in exchange for immunity, and her claims about you match up with her access record on her work computer. So I suggest you sign the damn settlement and get this over with.”

Becker looks at him, speechless for a second, then he lunges at Mike. “You piece of shit!” His eyes are red, his fangs bared, completely wolfed out, and Mike only barely manages to jump out of reach in the last second.

Then Harvey already has Becker by the throat, snarling, and dragging the other man away from Mike until they hit a big glass window. His eyes are red now, too, and he gets up close to Becker, growling in his face. “The only reason I’m not ripping off your fingers right now is that you still need to sign the fucking settlement. But next time you go for Mike,” he shows his fangs, “it’ll be your last time doing anything. You get that?”

“Harvey, no!” Not quite quick enough to stop Harvey altogether, Mike’s trying his best now to pull the Alpha away from Becker, but Harvey doesn’t budge, even when Mike yanks on his shoulder.

Becker snarls back, trying to not look intimidated, but Harvey slams him against the glass again. There’s nothing Mike can do about it. “You get that?” Harvey repeats.

Again Mike pulls at Harvey, and again it’s without success. If Harvey doesn’t want to be moved, there’s not a lot Mike can do about it when Harvey’s in Alpha rage like this.

The worst thing about this is that Mike probably could have taken Becker by himself. He’s not a delicate flower, and he really doesn’t need an Alpha manhandling his clients for him and he’s kind of annoyed Harvey doesn’t trust him to hold his own. Annoyed, and not even a little turned on. At all. Not now, boner.

Still he says, “Harvey, let him go,” putting effort into keeping his voice steady. He switches tactics, laying a calming hand on Harvey’s arm instead. “He’ll sign if he knows what’s good for him, and also if he doesn’t want me to report him to the police for attempted assault. I assume your security cameras are working?”

Becker slumps down after Mike finishes. He looks defeated.

Harvey smirks and steps back, putting distance between him and the other Alpha. Adjusts his tie, cool as a cucumber, as if nothing happened. Yet for all his show of calm, his elongated fangs are still peeking from beneath his upper lip. He gives Mike a once-over, clearly ascertaining whether Mike is hurt even though he knows Becker didn’t get him. Alphas.

“So?” Mike asks. He’s reaching the end of his patience and his stomach is tying itself in knots.

If looks could kill, he’d surely drop dead right about now, what with the glare Becker is aiming at him. Then the former CFO holds out his hand. “Give me the damn pen.”


	5. Chapter 5

In the elevator on the way down, Mike can’t stop grinning, the smile stretching his face almost unbearably wide. He’s caught in a maelstrom of feelings, triumph, vindication, pride, a hint of arousal again when he thinks of Harvey protecting him which – ugh. Everything’s only now slowly catching up with him.

“We did it,” he says, kind of awed by how relatively smoothly it went down too. Most of that was his doing; he knows it, Harvey knows it, and it feels so damn good.

Harvey preens, and oh, now Mike can see what Rachel meant by _puffing up his chest_. “Of course we did. I told you before, winning’s what I do.”

Mike smirks. Harvey’s ego never ceases to amaze.

Mike still feels the need to say his piece, though, can’t let what happened stand like this without clearing the air. “What happened up there - you do know you’re not my Alpha, Harvey, right? ‘Cause back there –”

Harvey scoffs. “I know that. According to, oh, everyone, I’m just your Daddy.” It’s clearly meant to be a joke, both an olive branch and the attempt to re-establish their status quo, but it falls terribly flat. Well, no, not flat per se, it falls – false, as a shiver passes through Mike at hearing Harvey suddenly say that word again so shortly after threating bodily harm to a man that tried to attack Mike.

He tries to tamp down the instinctive arousal; in such close proximity, in a small space like an elevator, the flare of lust in his scent would be unavoidable, impossible to miss. Probably due to the excitement from before, though, he fails miserably.

Embarrassment paints his cheeks hectic, and he can pinpoint the exact moment Harvey realizes just what it is that’s turning the air a bit sweeter, a bit spicier. Mike’s life is over.

Harvey’s eyes go wide, surprised, then dark with intent. Huh?

Out of nowhere, he hits the emergency stop button and the elevator lurches to a halt. Mike’s stomach hits his knees with it. The air is suddenly charged with – something; something hot and stifling and anticipatory.

“Tell me this is because of me,” Harvey demands, his eyes fixed on Mike’s face; heat rolls through Mike as he takes in Harvey’s fangs, the way he curls his hands like he desperately wants to touch, catch. _Hold_. “Not because of some kink you have.”

Mike’s struggling to keep up with the shift in mood, but he nods anyway, slow and bit dazed under Harvey’s gaze. “It’s – you. It’s…” _Both_ , he can’t say. “I’m sorry, Harvey.”

“At first, I thought it was funny, people calling me – _that_ ,” Harvey says. He advances slowly, a predator sure of its kill. Now, from up close, Mike can see the Alpha-red tinge his irises again, the dilation of his pupils. He shouldn’t like it as much as he does.

“So I rolled with it, just for the hell of it. But then, when I kept saying it, I had a revelation.” Harvey looks at Mike expectantly, his expensive shoes almost slotting in between Mike’s. “I realized that, when people – Omegas or Betas or anyone, really – when they call me Alpha, that’s fine, good even. But Daddy?”

He takes another step into Mike’s space, and Mike lets out a strangled groan when his shoulders hit the wall of the elevator, effectively pinned without Harvey ever having to lay a finger on him. He feels exposed and raw and so very turned on Harvey must surely be drowning in all the pheromones by now, in the scent of helpless, aroused Beta.

“Now that,” Harvey says idly and reaches out, traces one thumb unbelievably gently along the line of Mike’s cheekbone, “that’s a different kind of animal. Right? Mike?”

“Oh God,” Mike whimpers. He’s never experienced anything like this, like Harvey’s natural dominance, effortless and unrelenting.

Harvey’s other hand finds his waist, and Mike hisses like it burns. Harvey _purrs_ in response, leans in.

“Now we can do this the easy or the hard way,” he says as he noses along Mike’s neck, scenting him again as he tilts Mike’s face to make more room for himself. When Mike feels Harvey’s lips touch his neck ever so softly, his knees buckle, and he lets out an unthinking moan.

In a desperate bid to hold himself steady, he slings his arms around Harvey.

“Which is which?” Mike asks, voice trembling only a little.

“The easy way is this: You get one chance, puppy, and I trust you to know what to say. How does that sound?” Mike can feel Harvey smile into his neck, the sadistic slant of his grin. He should have known Harvey’s personality would lead to this, would translate this way from business to pleasure.

“W-what’s the hard way?” Mike asks, the words jumbled by his heavy breathing.

“You don’t want to find out,” Harvey promises, grips Mike’s hip tight enough that his fingers leave the sweet tingling pain that means bruises will follow later.

“Oh God,” Mike says again, “can you just – please, Harvey –”

“So close, baby, but that’s not what I wanna hear. Want to try again?”

Mike’s face is burning, somewhere between arousal and embarrassment and it makes for an intoxicating mix. He swallows, then takes the leap. “Please… Daddy.”

Harvey growls into his neck, the threat of sharp canines so close to Mike’s pulse point, “Good boy,” and Mike whimpers again, pawing at Harvey’s shoulders –

The buzz of the emergency intercom coming to life startles them out of their reverie. “Hello? Sirs? This is maintenance speaking. Do you require assistance?”

Harvey sighs, annoyed, then lets go of Mike and takes a step back. Mike feels the loss keenly. “No, we are fine. Must have hit the button on accident.”

“Sir.” The attendant sounds defeated, resigned, and Mike’s eyes flit up to the camera lens in one corner of the elevator. He winces.

“An accident,” Harvey grinds out. “Now get us out of here.”

A deep sigh crackles through the intercom. “Yes, sir.”

*

Down in the lobby, Mike stumbles out of the elevator on shaky legs. He looks at Harvey, unsure on how to proceed from here, how Harvey _wants_ to proceed from here. He’s close to just bolting – maybe they can come back from this. Never speak of it again, repress the hell out of it –

Before Mike can think that thought through, Harvey’s hand settles on the back of his neck, instantly proprietary and only one step up from seizing him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten. Mike shivers.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I. Uh,” Mike says, eloquently. Harvey has officially fried all of his braincells, and they didn’t even _kiss_.

“We’re going to my place,” Harvey says, with an emphasis on _we_ , like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, and hell, maybe it is.

*

For the whole ride Harvey doesn’t remove his hand from Mike’s nape.

*

At Harvey’s condo, Mike can’t take it anymore. They’ve just come through the door, and Harvey, without a word, has begun stripping off his suit jacket and waistcoat and putting them away with the utmost care. Is really a good idea? Mike thinks of Elaine Thompson, about Harvey’s Alpha status. Thinks about how he looks in comparison.

Harvey huffs in annoyance and Mike can hear the tearing of cloth. Harvey’s tie goes flying, and then the Alpha turns towards Mike again. He smells the air again and tilts his head, looks close to going feral. Mike’s mouth goes dry.

Still he avoids Harvey’s eyes, clears his throat meaningfully. “What about Thompson? You’re courting her, not me. Is this… ”

Harvey simply looks at him like he’s an idiot, condescending, like he just can’t believe how dense Mike’s being.  It takes Mike a second to get it. And oh. _Oh_. Mike mentally reassess all his clues again. Puts them back together to form a very different picture.

It seems Harvey wasn’t courting _her_. Has he been – courting Mike? How on _Earth_ did Mike miss that?

Harvey has that look in his eyes, unrelenting like the sea and twice as unpredictable. “Let me get this straight: You think I wanna tie the knot with her, just because I’m an Alpha and she’s an Omega?”

When Harvey speaks again, he’s close enough for Mike to feel his breath graze his cheeks. “For the record, because apparently I have to spell _everything_ out for you, I don’t want to be her Alpha. I don’t want to be _your_ Alpha, either, and frankly, I don’t see the point of trying to be. You’re a stubborn as hell Beta, and you don’t need an Alpha that yanks you around just because of your biology. What you need is me.”

Harvey is waiting for him when Mike half-steps, half-falls forward, right into Harvey’s arms.

The first touch of their lips is heavenly, and Mike moans into Harvey’s mouth. He feels Harvey smiling, feels his teeth bite his bottom lip, followed by Harvey’s tongue soothing the sting.

It all ends too soon, though, when Mike opens his mouth, tries to chase Harvey’s tongue, and Harvey chuckles, disentangles a little instead. He puts a hand on Mike’s chest, pushes him away just far enough for Mike to still try and recapture his mouth and fail by the smallest sliver of space.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Harvey chides, “that’s quite enough. You’ll get more later.”

“Harvey,” Mike whines and yelps when Harvey grabs his chin, forces him into silence.

“Again, so close,” he says, bemused. “Maybe you’ll do better next time. You know what I mean. Now get on your knees, puppy.”

All breath leaves Mike’s body as another punch of lust tears through him, and he sinks to his knees obediently. So this is the way it is then.

“Very good,” Harvey purrs, letting go of Mike’s face just to cradle the back of Mike’s head. “You understand how this game will play out now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Mike’s mouth goes dry. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Open wide.”

Mike’s mouth falls open without him having to think about it and he watches as Harvey unbuckles his belt, frees his erection. Everything else feels distant, irrelevant, as he holds onto the back of Harvey’s slacks with both hands, trying desperately not to sway on his knees. It feels like a trip, the way Harvey doesn’t ask, simply commands and expects Mike to follow through. It’s unbelievably hot in its faux carelessness, and Mike feels like a believer, down on his knees for prayer.

“Good boy,” Harvey praises, and shit, that’s still so _hot_.

Mike doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because immediately after, Harvey guides Mike to his dick, feeds it into his mouth torturously slow until he hits the back of Mike’s throat, and Mike gags around it. Harvey smiles then, all teeth and dark promise. He still has his hand around Mike’s skull, his intention clear as day.

“Two taps to the back of my leg, either or both, and I’ll stop, no questions asked,” he says. He strokes Mike’s cheekbone, wipes away one tear that has stolen its way out of Mike’s eyes with the strain. Mike struggles to breathe but he still manages to moan around Harvey’s cock, the vibration making him twitch in Mike’s mouth.

“Understood?” Harvey asks again, a hint of steel in his voice, and Mike nods as best as he can. He trusts Harvey, would trust him with his life. This, this is easy.

“Okay,” is the last thing Harvey says before he starts fucking Mike’s mouth in earnest, so deep that sometimes the beginning of Harvey’s knot will hit Mike’s lips for a second. He _loves_ it.

From there on, it all gets a bit hazy, and even though his memory is usually infallible, Mike’s not quite sure about the exact order of things, just knows that at some point, when he feels close to fainting, Harvey pulls out, praises Mike and gives more orders at the same time.

Then they’re suddenly in Harvey’s bed, Harvey three fingers deep in Mike’s ass, and Mike feels so wound up he’s basically sobbing at this point, overwhelmed and still hungry for more.

Harvey’s scent is cloying up his nostrils, strong and delicious, and he’s sure Harvey must have carried him to the bedroom since there’s no way Mike could have made it on his own two legs. They feel shaky and unsteady where they rest around Harvey’s waist and up on his shoulder.

“Please, oh! I’m ready, I’m ready, I promise, Daddy,” Mike begs, the hotness of that word by now outweighing the embarrassment by a landslide.

“Patience, young Padawan,” Harvey says, breaking the serious, hot as hell mood for a second, and Mike lets out a breathless giggle until Harvey’s fingers hit his prostate again and he dissolves into helpless groans once again.

“Wouldn’t wanna break my valuable associate on the very first merry-go-round ride,” Harvey pants, “you should be thanking me.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Mike says, going for slightly sardonic but missing it by a mile when a moan breaks the sentence in half.

He yelps when Harvey leans down and bites his clavicle in retaliation regardless, not hard enough to break skin, but not lightly either. “You little shit. See whether I look out for you ever again. I know I’m the first one to knot this sweet ass, so excuse me for wanting to exercise some caution.” His fingertips skirt along Mike’s dick for a second, and Mike’s eyes roll back into his head.

“You don’t need to - I can take it, I can.” Mike is digging his fingers into Harvey’s back, feeling the skin give beneath his nails, and receives a few rough thrusts of Harvey’s hand in return. “Oh, right there, yes – Daddy, please – “

Then he whines when Harvey withdraws his fingers only to replace them with his cock a moment later. “Remember,” Harvey growls while he bottoms out, “that you asked for this. So don’t come crying to me, puppy, when you can’t take it after all.” With that, he begins fucking Mike harder than Mike thought possible.

His mouth falls open when Harvey hits his prostate dead-on on his third thrust, and he keeps moaning helplessly through all of it. Harvey’s technique in bed is just what Mike’s expected, every movement controlled, well-executed and merciless in its precision, reducing Mike to a puddle of pleasure clinging to Harvey for dear life. Harvey’s keeping up a constant stream of sweet nothings, filthy promises and praise for the entire duration and it’s hitting every last button Mike didn’t know he had.

When he feels Harvey’s knot swell inside, on the painful side in its intensity and sheer girth, he reaches for his own cock, only for Harvey to slap his fingers away and take Mike in hand himself. Only a few pumps and Mike is coming all over himself and Harvey, and the next second Harvey growls again, groans when he spills inside Mike, now truly stuck.

Mike lets out a long breath, almost like a laugh. He’s high on endorphins, like nothing could ruin his mood ever again.

“Wow,” he says, and Harvey actually laughs out loud, still twitching with the aftershocks.

“Told you.” He only sounds minimally smug.

Mike sighs, exhausted but happy.  He doesn’t want to let go of Harvey just yet, so he only loosens his death-grip on Harvey’s shoulders to turn it into a somewhat sticky embrace.

Harvey huffs, put upon, but only for show. Finally, he surrenders and turns them both on their sides, presumably so he doesn’t crush Mike to death. The maneuvering is kind of awkward but, in the end, they manage to find a comfortable position for them both.

Mike luxuriates in the satisfaction that always comes with getting your brains screwed out for a few more minutes, before he breaks the comfortable silence to ask, “So how long is this… situation gonna go on?”

“You mean the knot?”

“Yeah.”

Harvey sighs. “Well, it really depends, but right now, I’d say about 30 minutes.”

“Thirty – are you kidding me?” Mike groans and lets his head fall back into the pillows. A/O biology is _fucked_.

“So I’m really your first?” Harvey sounds ridiculously pleased about that.

“First male Alpha? Yeah. Oh, don’t give me that smug look. Most of them are into Omegas, anyway, or at the most, female Betas. I don’t know what’s up with that.”

“Maybe they want to save themselves the trouble,” Harvey says, then starts scenting Mike’s neck again, revisiting the dark marks he left there in the first place. He smells like happy Alpha, warm and satisfied, and Mike might be starting to understand some part of the A/O obsession with scent.

“And now what?” he asks after another minute has passed. An excellent question, if you ask Mike, but Harvey only huffs.

“God, I should have known you wouldn’t even let a relaxed afterglow stand.” Harvey backs off a few inches, effectively removing himself from their smothering embrace, but that’s about as far as he can get right that moment. “Later we are going down to Wells, get some steak. Have good beer for a change, none of that IPA shit you like so much. And then we’ll just have to see.”

Mike doesn’t know how he feels about the last bit, so he focuses on the middle. “Hey! I’ll have you know, IPA is superior to almost any lager. What do know anyway? You only drink overpriced scotch.”

“Don’t even try,” Harvey says, then yawns. “That’s decided then. Now be quiet and let Daddy relax.”

Mike rolls his eyes. It’s probably the best Mike’s going to get from Harvey at this point. After all, he has never seen Harvey jump for joy at the prospect of commitment.

He burrows back into Harvey’s arms, the Alpha grumbling a bit. Oh well. There’s always a next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being along for the ride with me. This was my first Marvey fic, so I was pretty nervous about posting it, but you guys were amazing! The case was heavily inspired by the Folsom Foods storyline.  
> Some of the other references included:  
> \- Led Zeppelin IV: In my opinion, the best Led Zeppelin album. I think Harvey prefers Jazz and Blues to most other music, but I can still see him enjoying some classic rock. In my mind, his favorite Zeppelin songs are Going To California and Babe I'm Gonna Leave You.  
> \- "In a second, he'll ask Mike whether he's entertained" is inspired by movie 'Gladiator' (2000). I'm sure you know the memes.  
> \- 'The Omegan Mystique' is an allusion to 'The Feminine Mystique' (1963) by Betty Friedan, accordingly remodelled for the ABO trope.  
> \- Harvey calling Mike 'Sandra Dee' refers to 'Grease' (1978). In the song 'Look At Me I'm Sandra Dee' Stockard Channing references the actor Troy Donahue which is what later inspired Neal Donoghue's name, even though I decided to spell it differently.  
> \- “Gentlemen,” (...) “you can’t fight in here, this is the War Room.", is a quote from Dr. Strangelove (1964).  
> \- When Harvey calls Mike "Atticus", that's a reference to To Kill A Mockingbird (1960).  
> \- "It's Sam, Sammy's a chubby twelve-year old." is from the Supernatural episode "Pilot" (1x01).  
> \- "That'll do, pig" is from Babe (1995).


End file.
